Mud Pies
by Liebling
Summary: The past explored. (DracoGinny)


"A whole new world  
  
A new fantastic point of view  
No one to tell us no  
Or where to go  
Or say we're only dreaming  
A whole new world  
A dazzling place I never knew  
But when I'm way up here  
It's crystal clear  
That now I'm in a whole new world with you  
Now I'm in a whole new world with you  
Unbelievable sights  
Indescribable feeling  
Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling  
Through an endless diamond sky  
A whole new world  
Don't you dare close your eyes"  
  
'A Whole New World' from Aladdin (Disney movie) :D  
*  
Being with you was like being with a fire ant that kept stinging you. And I kept coming back. Being with you was like eating bitter chocolate, over and over again. And I kept eating it. Being with you was like surrendering myself and everything I stood for to you. And I kept surrendering.  
  
You weren't some great person so don't flatter yourself. You were heartless little monster and you've never been anything but. However, I fell in love with a heartless little monster. You treated me like I wasn't worth the dirt off your shoes, and I treated you like you were God. You weren't God, you do know that don't you Malfoy? I treated you like you were though.  
  
We used to make mud pies outside the Hogwarts' grounds. And you got your 'precious velvet' cloak dirty. Your Daddy bought it for you. And outside there, with the mud and with the trees and with our hands all dirtied up you told me, "My Father has never hugged me." I cried with you, and I don't even know why. You didn't cry, you never cried. It was always me, crying for you. You didn't deserve me to cry for you, you know.  
  
You were a helpless little boy whose heart was cold, and I a helpless little girl whose heart was worn conveniently on her sleeve. You know, don't you that your Hogwarts socks never matched? I realized that. There you were in your halo of perfection and your bloody socks don't even match. You matched, Malfoy. But the socks need to go.  
  
I needed to go.  
  
I miss the mud pies, you know. You were anything but innocent and I was everything that had to do with innocence. But there we were, two different people, two walks of life, and we were sitting down making *mud pies*, yes, mud pies. Don't deny it, you know it as well as me. I had to teach you how to make one. You know how pathetic that was? I learned to make one when I was three, Fred and George taught me. But you needed to be taught, at fifteen. It was sad, isn't making a mud pie only second nature?  
  
*  
  
Flashback:  
  
"Draco, it isn't that hard-" she urged picking up a handful of mud, filled with worms trying to get away and throwing it on top of another handful of mud. She took another handful, and did it again, gently slapping the mud together in a big heap. Then she shaped the top, and slid off all the excess mud. Dramatically she picked up a rock and set it on top of the mud pie. "My masterpiece," she muttered.  
  
He looked at her in this confused way, "What? We are just stacking mud?"  
  
"No, darling-" she told him rolling her chocolate colored eyes "-we are making mud pies."  
  
He never understood her, even when she was talking plainly.  
  
"Come on. Get a hold of yourself, man. It's a mud pie. It's second nature it's simple, it's sickeningly obviously incredibly easy."  
  
His lips looked chap from the cold and he managed to make them into a smirk, "Don't get smart with me."  
  
"Smart, me?" she asked innocently, continuing to pack on the mud to a new mud pie. "You know, you really ought to loosen up."  
  
And then he did 'it.' He threw the handful of mud from his pale clammy hand onto her Gryffindor cloak. She shrieked.  
  
"You want to play like that then?" she smiled coyly and stood up, taking a handful of mud from her mud pie and throwing it at his pure blond hair.  
  
"Oh have it your way then," he replied bitterly sitting back down and beginning his very own mud pie.  
  
"See, you got the hang of it!"  
  
After his very small mud pie was finished she looked at him.  
  
"You forgot to add the birthday candle-" she gestured to the rock "-you know for the little girl's birthday. She has to have candles doesn't she? It 'is' a birthday mud pie after all."  
  
He blinked, "This little girl doesn't get to blow out any candles."  
  
*  
  
I've never much liked making mud pies, since. You made them cynical. You made everything cynical. It was just a mud pie, you know. It wasn't some life lesson or anything. It was a mud pie, Dray, a mud pie for Goddesses' sake.  
  
But it wasn't just a mud pie for you, was it?  
  
You never got a birthday did you? You never got to blow out the candles, you never got to lick the chocolate frosting off the plate. And you wanted that, everyone wants that. Everyone wants to blow out candles and be the star for a day.  
  
Everyone wants to be loved. But not you, huh Dray? You are just so different and inhuman compared to all of us lowly mortals, huh? You don't need love, or human contact, or hugs or kisses, or birthdays. Because you aren't like 'us.'  
  
Oh, but you are. You are every bit as human as I. And every bit as human as the poor man who begs for a knut. You are every bit as human as the single Mum, just trying to do the best for her child. You are every bit as human as the bleedin' Prince of England. You are every bit as human as Albus Dumbledore. You are every bit as human as the famous, courageous Harry Potter. You are every bit as human as the Father working three jobs just to put bread on the table.  
  
You wanted that mud pie when you were four years old, huh? You wanted that mud pie.  
  
You wanted that mud pie when you said, "Daddy, can I go play out in the mud?"  
  
And your Father looked at you with those cold eyes that we all know Lucius possesses and said, "Why would you want to do a silly thing like that?"  
  
And then you'd say, "It seems fun. I can even add the birthday candle to the mud pie, you know. Please Dad."  
  
Then, Lucius said, "Oh well. No mud pies today." In this entirely 'no pity' sort of voice.  
  
I know, Dray. I know you. I even understand you. Partly.  
  
Mummy spoiled you, didn't she? She had a knack for doing things that were wrong for her and others. She married your Father after all. You used to always tell me about how delicious the buttered crumpets she made were it was your favourite memory of her. You always said she smelled like buttered crumpets.  
  
You told me about that time that when she came to tuck you in you said: "Mummy, can I marry you?" and kissed her hand. You were just five then.  
  
Daddy hated you, didn't he? He hurt you far worse than any living person could hurt someone else. You used to always tell me about how he taught you how to belch louder than anybody. It was partly funny-really-your Father teaching you how to belch. You always remembered that. And he'd slip you a candy cane underneath the dining room table so your Mum wouldn't see. He wasn't always that bad.  
  
You told me about the times when he would tell you tales of Salazar Slytherin. "Don't be silly-" he once told you "-Salazar was a good man. Good cannot exist without evil."  
  
They weren't great parents, by any standards. But that can't be your excuse for acting like a bloody prat to everyone else in the world.  
  
You were my first love. The first time my heart broke and shattered onto the splitting hard wood. The first time I cried so much, for anyone, except when Fred fell off his broom that is. The first time I literally couldn't stop smelling my cloak because it smelled just like your cologne. My first kiss.  
  
And all of the men that I date from now on will be judged according to how you were. Because you were my first true love.  
  
I just hope they can be half the man you were. Even though you didn't know the right way to make mud pies.  
  
* 


End file.
